


Postmarks

by flaming_muse



Category: Glee
Genre: Episode Tag, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-02
Updated: 2011-12-02
Packaged: 2017-10-26 19:11:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/286874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flaming_muse/pseuds/flaming_muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The line at the post office was slow that afternoon after school.</p><p>episode tag for 3x07 ("I Kissed A Girl")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Postmarks

The line at the post office was slow that afternoon after school. Painfully slow, dreadfully slow, watching paint dry, glaciers recede, and Finn try to pick out a truly stylish outfit _slow_. There was only one harried postal clerk at the counter, and it seemed like every person in line had complicated or at least time-consuming requests, like wanting exactly thirty-seven stamps on a single sheet or trying to figure out the best way to send a heavy manual typewriter to Guam. It was taking forever to get to the front of the line.

“I should have just stuck a bunch of stamps on it and shoved it into a mailbox,” Kurt muttered, holding the envelope containing his NYADA application against his leg and trying not to crumple it in his fist in his frustration. He took some comfort in the fact that he could probably blame it on the postal service if he gave into the urge, but he prided himself on his self-control.

“Come on, then you couldn’t get delivery confirmation,” Blaine said with a smile, supportive as always where he stood beside him in line. Kurt liked that about him, even though today it felt kind of naive. He wished it didn’t. “I know you’ll want to be able to check and see when it gets there.”

“Oh, yes.” That way Kurt could start counting down to NYADA rejecting him.

He knew he was talented, but on paper he had so little to offer them. His grades were good, even from his time at Dalton, but he didn’t have much on his CV beyond Glee club. With Rachel not singing at Sectionals, New Directions were probably going to lose to the incredible vocal power of Mercedes and Santana, so he wouldn’t even have the chance for the distinction of making it to show choir Nationals twice in two years. And he’d been beaten for Senior Class President by a girl who promised a basket of free puppies at every classroom door. Not that he should be surprised, given the general intelligence of the student body, but it still hurt. It hurt not to win, it hurt not to be able to make the changes to the school he knew it needed, but it hurt even more, like a desperate, clawing ache that threatened to burst out of him in a scream, that their votes may have taken away his dreams for the future with them.

For years he’d built up so much on his plans for New York, this whole huge and amazing life ahead of him if only he could hold on until then, and suddenly the very foundation of it, the part that had seemed so easy just a few months ago, the basic fact of _getting there_ , was crumbling like meringue beneath it all. Everything he had constructed in his mind was coming tumbling down in slow motion around him.

“And just think,” Blaine continued, rocking forward on his toes. “Next year when you’re in New York, I’ll come to this very post office and send you care packages.”

Kurt looked over at him, surprise pulling him out of his thoughts. “You’re going to send me care packages?”

Blaine nodded. “Of course. I bet there are things here you won’t be able to get in New York.”

“I don’t think you can fit a dedicated parking space or a full-sized closet in a Priority Mail box,” Kurt said, and Blaine grinned at him.

“I could bake you cookies.”

“They sell cookies in New York, Blaine.”

Blaine put a hand over his heart. “Not _my_ cookies.”

“Thank heavens for that,” Kurt said and got another grin. Blaine’s kitchen skills might have been improving, but he still had a long way to go.

“You know what I mean,” Blaine said, his eyes fond and amused. “I’ll send you things you actually want.”

“I don’t think _you’ll_ fit in a box, either.”

Blaine’s smile grew a little wider. “Other things.”

The line inched forward, and Kurt said, “Thank you.” It really was a sweet thought. He didn’t feel like arguing about the fact that it would probably not be necessary, because he wouldn’t be going to New York. He wouldn’t be getting into NYADA.

Kurt looked around at the other people waiting with them. They were the sorts of people he’d lived near all his life: uninspired, intolerant, more interested in blending in than in being their true selves. They were the sort of people he wanted to escape. It was hard to stomach the thought that he might not have the choice.

Taking a deep breath to keep himself together, he tapped the envelope against his leg and lifted his chin higher. He wasn’t going to give in before he had to.

“I’ll send you letters, too,” Blaine said more softly. “I’ve been thinking about it, about writing to you. I mean, we’ll Skype and text, but I thought it might be fun to write pen and paper letters. There’s something very romantic about it. Don’t you think?” He watched Kurt’s face like he actually thought Kurt might disagree. Sometimes he was so adorably clueless in his insecurity.

Kurt couldn’t help but smile at him, just a little. “I do,” he said, touched by the idea. He could picture it, finding an envelope of beautiful, thick stationery in his mailbox with a Lima postmark and his name in Blaine’s scrawl across the front and retreating to sit on his bed with his door closed to tuck Blaine’s words away in his heart. It was like something from an old movie. He could keep them in a special box and take them out when he was having a hard day or just missing Blaine being beside him. It would be wonderful.

The woman behind him bumped Kurt’s bag as the line moved again, and it jolted Kurt back to reality. The letters sounded lovely, but there was a very good chance he wouldn’t be in New York. He’d be here. He’d be here in Lima, and his friends wouldn’t be. Rachel, despite her suspension, would be in New York; with her exceptional ability and impressive CV, how could she not? And in a year, when Blaine graduated after leading New Directions with its roster of new talent, he’d be going away, too, to New York or wherever he wanted. The world was ahead of them. Kurt would be the one sending letters with an Ohio postmark, if anyone even wanted them.

The idea that they might not, that Blaine might not, was crushing. He pushed it aside as best he could. It wasn’t true, not yet.

“I’ll write to you, too,” he promised Blaine, and the joy in Blaine’s eyes was worth the effort of not giving into his darker thoughts. Kurt _would_ write; he wasn’t letting go of anything.

“I’d really like that,” Blaine said and brushed against his arm.

“When the time gets closer, we’ll have to go shopping for stationery.” Kurt smiled over at him and tapped the envelope against his thigh again.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you can turn everything into a shopping trip.”

Kurt bobbed his shoulders in agreement. “It’s one of my many not-so-hidden talents.”

Another customer went up to be served, an old man in a dirty baseball cap that should have been burned or buried years ago, along with the shoes he was wearing and, Kurt assumed, most of the contents of his closet at home. His whole outfit was something Kurt would be very glad never to see again. At least Kurt was almost at the counter, and then he could take the next step toward seeing whether his future held ovations or obscurity, fresh bagels or stained Buckeyes caps.

The smile slipped slowly from his face as he caught a glimpse of the side of the man’s face, shadowed by the curve of the brim. It was the kind of profile he saw every day at home, that had been a comforting view of his father for as long as he could remember. At Kurt’s house it meant family, acceptance, love, a place where he belonged, the _only_ place in Lima he belonged. But soon even his dad wouldn’t be here, sitting on the couch or working in the garage in his own familiar caps. He’d be in Washington, at least most of the time, making his mark outside of Lima. He was going to leave and do great things.

But not Kurt. His fingers tightened on the thin envelope that held his hopes and dreams. Not him, because he probably wasn’t going to be judged as good enough. He hadn’t been good enough for the lead in the musical, he hadn’t been good enough to be elected Senior Class President, and he wasn’t going to be good enough to get into NYADA.

He’d been fighting against people telling him he wasn’t right all of his life, and this time he might lose. He actually might, right now when it mattered the most, and he couldn’t do anything more to stop it from happening. That awful, bitter knowledge gnawed at his heart like it was eating him alive from the inside and made it almost impossible to breathe.

“Are you okay?” Blaine asked. “You keep going quiet.”

Kurt nodded and somehow found his voice. It wasn’t true yet. He wasn’t there yet. He wasn’t _not_ there yet. He couldn’t let the threat of it buckle his knees, not if he wanted to make it through the reality if it happened. “I’m not good at waiting.”

Blaine patted his shoulder. "Don't worry. The line is moving. We’re nearly there."

“This isn’t the waiting that’s bothering me.”

His hand lingering, firm and comforting, Blaine said, “I know. Waiting for an answer has to be the worst part of the college application process, right? Think of it as a rite of passage that you’re sharing with all of the college-bound seniors in the country.”

“It’s not just college for me, Blaine. It’s _everything_.” Kurt turned to Blaine to find his expression full of compassion, concern, and belief in him. It was almost overwhelming, and he hoped it wasn’t all misplaced.

“It’s not over yet. Don’t give up.”

Kurt shook his head. “I’m not. I’m going to fight until the end. But...” He took a deep breath and made himself say it aloud; Kurt Hummel did not back down from his fears, and this wasn’t the time to start. “It might not be enough.”

“I know.” Blaine grew grave, the way he did when he drew from that part of him that was more mature than his years. “That’s true for all of us. But you don’t _know_ that. And you’re amazing, Kurt. I’ve known that from the first day we met. Even if NYADA says no, this isn’t the end.”

“It might be.”

“It isn’t,” Blaine said. “I know it isn’t. Trust me?”

Blaine’s expression was so warm and open, so utterly sure, that Kurt had to nod. “Always.”

The last patron ahead of them left the counter, and it was finally Kurt’s turn. He’d thought that he’d feel a sense of eager anticipation at sending the envelope on its way to the admissions committee, but he was too aware of what wasn’t in there now to be excited. He was mostly just relieved not to be stuck in line anymore.

He watched the postal worker calculate the postage and scan in the delivery tracking and thought in a detached sort of way that if he didn’t go to New York this could wind up being his life, standing behind a counter in a horrible outfit made of synthetic fibers and helping ungrateful people all day. It was a horrifying thought, and he understood why some of them turned to violence. He’d probably be tempted on the very first day.

It wasn’t going to happen, of course. He had his father’s garage to fall back on as a place to work if nothing else, even with Finn as his boss, as lowering as that would be. At least he could bedazzle his coveralls. But if he didn’t go to New York, if he didn’t reach his dreams, the possibilities for his future were nearly endless. He could become _anything_ , and not in a good way.

He didn’t want to be anything; he wanted to be _something_.

All he wanted was to go to New York. All he wanted was to be appreciated for who he was and hoped to become, to be able to reach for the stars he’d counted on being there for him to grab. It was _all_ he wanted. He’d fought and fought for it, clearly without as much planning as he should have, but he couldn’t change that. He’d still tried.

Now it was out of his hands. He wasn’t good at things being out of his hands.

Apparently it was time to learn.

The clerk stamped the postmark with a heavy thump and tossed the envelope into a bin behind him as Kurt pulled the appropriate bills from his wallet to pay. Less than a minute later, he was headed toward the door, and his application was headed to New York.

“Congratulations,” Blaine said, squeezing his arm as they crossed the parking lot to his car.

Kurt blinked over at him. “Congratulations?”

“You just applied to the college of your dreams, Kurt.”

“I know,” Kurt said slowly.

Blaine smiled and opened the passenger door for him. “It’s the first step toward getting in,” he said.

“Or not getting in.” Kurt slid inside and settled his bag on the floor at his feet.

“Since when are you a pessimist?” Blaine asked.

Startled by the question, Kurt stopped with his seatbelt pulled halfway across his body. He couldn’t have done even half of what he had so far in his life if he were a pessimist. He looked up at Blaine in confusion. “What are you talking about? I’m not.”

Blaine’s smile was filled with a kind of smug pride that surprised Kurt. “Exactly.” He shut Kurt’s door and got in behind the wheel. “So I’m taking you for coffee, and we’re celebrating.”

“Celebrating getting an envelope into the mail? I admit that the line was worse than the ones at the registers at Macy’s on Black Friday, but it hardly seems worth the attention.”

Blaine captured Kurt’s hand and brought it up to his lips. “Celebrating _you_. Because you never stop trying.”

Kurt’s breath caught in his throat at this sweet boy who somehow loved him, and it took him a second before he could say, “Some people might call me crazy for it.”

“Not me,” Blaine said. “Not anyone who wants something so badly they would do pretty much anything to have it.”

“Within reason,” Kurt added, thinking of his decision not to stuff the ballot boxes. He could never have lived with himself, even if he’d been not-living-with-himself in New York. If he was going to get there, it had to be on his _own_ merits.

“Within reason.”

Blaine rubbed his thumb once more over Kurt’s knuckles before he let go and started the car.

As they pulled out of the parking space, Kurt closed his eyes for a few seconds to center himself before turning his head to watch Blaine as he drove. He loved being able to look his fill. It was still a luxury in a way to be able to fill his eyes with Blaine’s ever-handsome face, to fill his heart with his steady presence. It made everything a little better to know Blaine was there with him.

“I’m not a pessimist; I just really want to go to NYADA,” he said quietly, without quite the same tumbling sense of despair as before but with a sadness nonetheless. His dreams were so critical to his very self, and they felt so vulnerable.

“I know.”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do if I can’t. If I’m stuck here.” Kurt wasn’t sure if it was easier or harder to admit it without Blaine looking at him.

“That’s not even possible.”

“Of course it is. It is entirely and quite depressingly possible. They can say no, and I’ll be left behind in Lima without access to Fashion Week or real sushi or basic human rights. You can’t send me sushi in the mail, Blaine.”

Blaine glanced over at him. “Kurt, even if you don’t get into NYADA you are going to have other options. You’re _incredible_. And you know I’ll help you however I can. We’ll figure something out.”

Kurt fiddled with the strap of his bag where it lay over his knee. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me; you’ll do the same for me.”

“Of course I will,” Kurt said, though he was fairly certain Blaine would have a much easier time of it. It was a relief, really, that it didn’t have to be hard for them both.

Blaine reached over and took his hand again, squeezing it reassuringly. “But seriously,” he asked, “why would I be sending you sushi in the mail?”

“In a care package from New York?” Kurt explained. “Instead of cookies?”

Shaking his head, Blaine laughed and returned his hand to the wheel. “I’m not going to be sending you sushi, because you’re going to be right there eating it with me and mocking me for how I hold chopsticks.”

Kurt found himself smiling at the image and the thought behind it, like Blaine had it all planned out in his head, too. Maybe it wouldn’t work out the way they wanted, but at least they were aiming in the same direction. “You really do hold them like a five-year-old.”

“You can teach me to do it properly. When we’re in New York.”

“I could teach you _now_ if you only would listen.”

“Nope,” Blaine said. “It’s not an Ohio thing. You’re lucky I don’t use a fork.”

“I’m lucky about a lot of things with you,” Kurt told him, and Blaine’s smile caught fire with delight.

“I feel exactly the same way about you.”

Settling more comfortably into his seat, Kurt watched Blaine drive, feeling more of his despair dissipate, at least for the moment. He wasn’t giving up. He had some very, very good things in his life, and he wasn’t done fighting yet for everything else he wanted. There was no way he was done fighting.

“And what do you want?” he asked, taking a deep breath and trying to put his application behind him for now. It was all out of his control. “What’s the thing you want so badly you’d do anything to have it? Do you know? You don’t have to; I’m unusually single-minded for our age.”

Blaine glanced over at him and reached out to pat his leg. Then he pulled his iPod from the console and handed it to Kurt. “I want to hear you sing.”

“That’s not an answer to my question,” Kurt told him, scrolling through Blaine’s playlists for something they could sing together.

Blaine just shook his head and rubbed Kurt's leg again.


End file.
